


Battlemaster and Commander

by The_Red_Celt



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Romance, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Red_Celt/pseuds/The_Red_Celt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her love of battle is what draws him to her, but what makes him stay goes deeper than that.  Three game arc of how a romance with Wrex might have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Shepard faced down the huge, scarred krogan before her with narrowed eyes. His own blood-red gaze regarded her soberly, with a distinctly alien intelligence that might have made her squirm had she been anyone other than Commander-Goddamn-Shepard. He’d just finished staring down a C-Sec agent, daring the poor guy to try and arrest him, and the human had looked away almost immediately. 

“I’m trying to bring down Saren,” she said. No long prelude, straight to the point. He liked that. “Barla Von said to talk to you.”

“Barla Von is a wise man. We may share a common goal, human.” There was a measured cadence to his voice that hinted at the quick mind that lay beneath his brutish exterior. He went on to explain that there was a quarian on the Citadel with proof that Saren was a traitor, and she was being sold out by Fist. It was the first real lead they’d had so far, and Shepard was eager to be off so she, Kaidan, and Wrex hustled over to Chora’s Den to take care of business.

Wrex, for his part, was impressed with the short, red-haired human. She stayed calm and collected in the middle of the firefight that broke out as soon as they arrived and didn’t even blink when it came to taking down Fist, one of her own species. Added to all that the fact that every time she mentioned Saren, her eyes blazed with a righteous fury that matched his own, and he knew he had to go with her. She was throwing herself headlong into what was promising to be one hell of a fight, and he could practically hear the long-dead krogan ancestors who preceded him crying out for the battle to end all battles—the kind one would be proud to die in.

Back aboard the Normandy, she shucked off her armor and with it went some of the stoicism she wore around the Citadel. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on right away—she still radiated that almost tangible aura of command—but after a while, he found himself being systematically disarmed by her. She took the time to get to know every member of her team, Alliance or no, and she seemed to harbor no prejudices at all, preferring to judge people based on merit. It was confusing as all hell; he was used to having everyone look at him as a krogan first, then make assumptions from there. 

“Not used to fighting with a woman,” he mentioned one day as they sat and cleaned their armor. She was still digging sand out of the joints two days after their last mission, which involved the Mako and a quick jaunt off the side of a mountain (thank the powers that be for low-gravity planets, or else they’d all be dead by now). 

“Oh yeah?”

“Krogan females tend to stay on the home world. They’re too valuable to waste in battle.”

“Damn, that must be boring,” she said with a shudder. The idea of never being able to leave Earth, forced to stay behind to be a brood mare for her species . . . ugh. Although, if the humans had been inflicted with the genophage, she might think differently. “I love this job too much, flying through space, the whole galaxy spread out before me . . .” She stopped cleaning and smiled contentedly, which took about five years off her face. Wrex was struck for the first time by just how young she really was. It was easy to forget; she had old eyes, and he wondered (not for the first time) what happened in her past that had aged her beyond her years.

“Sounds familiar,” he said with a gravelly chuckle. Shepard though that if mountains could laugh, that was what they’d sound like.

“So why did you become a mercenary, Wrex?” 

“Basic necessity, mostly. I needed to get out of our system. I needed to eat, to survive.”

“Why not stay back and help your people?” She seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, and it was that more than anything that had him spilling everything: his plan for strengthening the krogan by avoiding war, his disagreement with his father, the subsequent betrayal and patricide. She’d abandoned all pretense of working and just listened.

“Jesus, Wrex.”

“It had to be done. Jarrod was a menace, and it was because of him that I can’t go back to Tuchanka. My people have become shadows of what we were, and I can’t . . . stand to watch anymore.” He couldn’t look at her, didn’t want to know if her face held pity or something else. He didn’t want sympathy, and he rejected apologies. This was his burden to bear; why he’d decided to share it with a human, _this_ human, was beyond him. He’d never had any patience for the ‘talk it out’ mentality of some people, and he wasn’t about to admit to himself just how cathartic it was to talk to her.

“Any other family?”

“None that live, just some unfinished business.”

“Sounds familiar,” she said, echoing his earlier words with more sadness in her voice. Her eyes went dark with the weight of her past, and a part of him wanted to say something to take it back. It was irrational, he knew—they were going to need her, as the commander, just as she was—but there it was, just the same. “What kind of unfinished business?”

“My family armor. I made a promise to my father’s father that I would get it back, but it’s being held by a turian named Tonn Actus. He’s a turian scumbag who made millions off the krogan, selling stolen artifacts from the war. I know he has my family’s armor, I just don’t know where he’s hiding it. It could be in any number of his bases, all of them heavily fortified and guarded.” He had to force his hands to unclench before he could continue cleaning his armor, making sure to affect an air of nonchalance that he wasn’t even sure was fooling anyone right now.

“Just tell me where to start looking.” She stood up and brushed off her legs. 

“Just like that?” he had to ask. 

“Well, yeah,” she replied, like there was never a question about it. “Every little bit helps, right?” But she glanced away at the last minute and her face started to turn a funny shade of pink, which was somewhat perplexing.

“I’ll upload the data to your nav system,” he said and she nodded before heading to the armor locker to store her gear. “And Shepard?” She turned to look at him, and his gaze was steely. “I want to be there when you find him.”

She smiled, and he found himself smiling back. Damned human, she was making him soft, and he wasn’t sure he was entirely opposed to the idea. “Sure thing, Wrex.” She left then, the elevator engines humming as it took her to some other part of the ship, and he stared after her for a long time, until he felt someone watching him. Garrus was leaning against the Mako with what would have been a shit-eating grin if his mouth was capable of something like that. Wrex scowled at him.

“What are you looking at, whelp?” he growled, rumbling like a landslide.

“Nothing, nothing.” He shook his head and went back to his repairs.  
__________

Noveria was a cold frozen armpit run by a salarian who was the embodiment of businesslike chill. Wrex calmed himself by picturing himself putting a bullet in the pompous little frog’s head, but he apparently got too into the fantasy when he got a strange look from Liara and realized he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I said, let’s get out of here. He’s not going to be any help,” said the asari, and they filed out of the office, quietly formulating a plan to get out to Saren’s research facility until the woman behind the desk just outside the doors told them to go talk to a turian named Lorik Qui’in. After she was sure they were out of earshot, Shepard sighed. 

“Why can’t it ever be easy?” she asked no one in particular. “I mean, just once I’d like it if there weren’t a hundred hurdles to jump through every time we try to do something. Saren’ll end up annihilating the entire galaxy while we go collect some Prothean artifact, or deal with Lorik Qui’in’s personal crap.”

Wrex laughed and nudged her with his shoulder. He must have underestimated his strength, though, and she stumbled into the wall. Before he could apologize, she recovered and slapped his hump with a mock-indignant expression. “Not getting disillusioned already, are you Shepard? You’re too young for that yet.”

“I’m rounding the bend to thirty, I’ll have you know. I have crow’s feet already.” She pointed to the fine creases in the corners of her eyes. “See?”

“Yeah, I see them. Thirty years old, you’re practically ancient,” he said dryly.

“I know, right?” She tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” 

As soon as they burst into Qui’in’s office, he and Shepard fell into the rhythm they’d established—they’d both storm into the thick of the fighting, right through the enemy lines, clean house, then move on to the next target. It was nice to have someone at his back that not only understood and mimicked his fighting style, but trusted him to watch her back and vice versa. He’d been too long among mercs and bounty hunters, mostly worthless scum who’d sell their mothers if the credits were right; having a proper companion at his side in battle was something he’d been missing but hadn’t known it. He roared, lost in the heat of battle, and Shepard whooped loudly as she vaulted out of cover and blasted a hole the size of a football through a man’s chest, showering the wall behind him with blood. He knew not many other species would understand, but the mixture or sweat, adrenaline, the burnt ozone smell of spent heatsinks, and the bitter copper scent of blood was making his pulse race and his armor feel too tight. This was what he lived for, and he suspected Shepard felt the same way.

After the smoke cleared and the last man lay dead on the cold floor she turned to Wrex, breathless and flushed, and his breath caught for just a moment. Her eyes held a smoldering heat that burned low but with an intensity that threatened to eat him alive . . . and part of him wanted it. He would have said something to her, something inconsequential maybe to alleviate the tension that built between them like a rubber band pulled too tight, but Kaidan chose that moment to step between them and tell Shepard they should head back to Qui'in. With one last glance his way, she headed back to the lobby, the LT hot on her heels, Wrex and Liara pulling up the rear. At least the view was nice from back here, he thought--a thought that would never see the light of day if he had anything to say about it. Didn't stop him from staring, though.  
__________

The Mako caromed across the frozen tundra, Shepard at the wheel and driving it like the snow had insulted her honor. She bore down on attacking geth and turrets alike, hell-bent on killing the damn things if it was the last thing she did.

Which, judging by her skills behind the wheel, was looking more and more likely by the second.

Liara and Kaidan sat in the back, slamming back and forth in their harnesses. Wrex was pretty sure Kaidan was praying and Liara had finally stopped yelling and was instead making little whimpering sounds with her eyes squeezed shut. Wimps, the both of them. Shepard downshifted and swung the tank around just as they crested the ridge in front of them and she whooped, a savage grin on her lips and a gleam in her eye.

Wrex had never felt so alive.

“Punch it!” she hollered, and Wrex aimed down the long barrel of the front-mounted cannon, then fired. A geth trooper’s head exploded in a mass of synthetic innards, and Shepard clapped him hard on the back of his hump. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!”

“Does this mean we can head to the facility now?” Liara asked, her eyes still closed.

“Yep,” Shepard replied, a satisfied smile crossing her features. 

“Thank the Goddess.”

“Can I drive?” Kaidan asked hopefully.

“Hell no, LT, you drive like my grandmother.” Kaidan groaned and Wrex just laughed. “You haven’t bitched once about my driving,” she remarked, and glanced sideways at him as she launched the Mako over a snow drift and they hung in the air for a good five seconds before landing with a bone-jarring thud.

“I can’t complain.” Well, he could, but she was having too much fun and her good mood was infectious. He’d been out with her before and the rest of the crew hated it, but her insatiable lust for battle was so . . . _krogan_ that it was hard not to admire.

“You can’t be serious,” said Kaidan. His eyebrows had shot up so far that they looked ready to crawl up into his hairline.

“What can I say? I live on the edge.” Shepard laughed out loud at that and grabbed his hand. Wrex was totally unprepared for the way such a casual touch made him aware of her body, ensconced as it was in light armor and just on the other side of the gear shift. If she moved three feet to the right, she’d be in his lap.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” She winked at him and took her hand back, but he could feel the residual warmth for a long time afterward.

Fighting through the rachni had been one hell of a nasty surprise, and seeing the queen under Benezia’s tender mercies hadn’t been much better. The matriarch had put up one hell of a fight, but in the end fought through the indoctrination just long enough to die with dignity. A good death, Wrex thought. 

Shepard leaned against the rachni queen’s enclosure, an inscrutable expression on her face, and they listened as she spoke through an asari proxy. The queen spoke in a cadence, almost poetic, and Wrex grew impatient before too long. Shepard, though . . . she listened to her, giving the alien being the same consideration she afforded everyone. It was hard to look at the rachni and see anything other than a giant insectile creature, a beast, but Shepard was trying her best.

After the rachni explained her plight and that of her children, Shepard paused for a long moment as she considered what to do.

“There are acid tanks hooked up that thing. _Set them off_ , Shepard. Millions of my people died to put these things down, don’t let them come back.”

“Wrex, if we kill her we kill an entire species. Do you really think that’s right?” She turned slowly to look at him, like she was waiting for him to understand but he didn’t know what she was asking of him.

“Your people didn’t fight these bastards, so maybe you don’t get it.” How could she be thinking about releasing the rachni again? After all they went through to drive them back the first time?

“What do you think the difference is between genocide and the genophage?” she asked. “Would you inflict either on another race, even the rachni?”

And that was when the other shoe dropped and he understood what she was trying to make him see. But, the rachni . . . maybe for any other species, but there was too much bad blood between them for him to make this decision. “Point taken, Shepard,” he said, a little more harshly than he had intended. “Do what you want, I won’t stop you.”

She ended up letting the queen go free with the promise that she would find a secluded place to raise her children and teach them to sing the songs of their people, or something like that. Wrex was still uneasy about all this, but he had to trust her; if he didn’t, this mission was over before it began. They left Noveria soon afterward, one step closer to stopping Saren.

Later on, after they’d returned to the Normandy and she’d changed back into her ship suit, she came back down to the cargo bay with two bottles—beer for her, ryncol for him. “Join me?” she asked, cocking her head toward the Mako. He nodded, and they climbed up onto the top of the tank and cracked open their respective bottles. They drank in companionable silence for a while, content to just sit and enjoy the quiet.

“So, the rachni.” They both knew it was coming, and she just sighed and leaned back against the turret, taking a deep drink of her beer before continuing.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I just couldn’t be the one to make the decision to wipe out an entire race. Felt too much like playing god.”

“Or doing the universe a favor.”

“You heard her—it sounds like the rachni who started the war were indoctrinated by the Reapers. I still have a lot of reservations about this, believe me, but it just seemed . . . _wrong_ to deny them their chance at redemption.”

“I don’t know, Shepard. I still say they’re a pestilence that should be wiped out.”

She turned to him and met his eyes, green to his red, and she fixed him with a searching gaze. “You realize that the salarians once thought of the krogan the same way, right? I don’t think they would have inflicted the genophage on your people if they didn’t think of you, at least on some level, as lesser beings who need to be controlled because you’re incapable of controlling yourselves.”

“Watch yourself, Shepard,” he rumbled in warning. She put up her hands in a placating gesture.

“Hey, I never said I believed it, just that you and the rachni might have more in common than you think.” He brought the bottle up to his lips, the ryncol flooding warmth down to his stomach where it bloomed with a welcome burn. The more he thought about what she’d said, the more sense she made. He’d always thought of himself as more diplomatic than some, but she was really giving him a run for his money in that regard. It wasn’t an act at all, like he’d initially thought—she really did have a knack for seeing people as they were. Probably the reason she was so comfortable with him, he thought, so unlike other races who thought of the krogan as stupid beasts useful only for their strength. Once, long ago, his people had _created_ , made things of great aesthetic worth. There had been bards and artists, sculptors and writers when Tuchanka was younger and they hadn’t taken to the stars yet. Sometimes he wondered if life wouldn’t be better if his people had just stayed home. It was with that sobering thought that he fell silent and she didn’t break it for a long time, sensing that he needed a minute to process what she’d said, and the implications.

“What are you gonna do when this is all over, Wrex?” she asked, staring at the bay doors, her beer clutched loosely in her fingers.

“Hmmm. Hadn’t really thought about it much. I suppose I’ll go back to bounty hunting. What about you?”

“I’ll probably stay with the Alliance . . . provided I don’t kill Udina first and get court-martialed.” Wrex harrumphed, remembering the infuriating human he’d had the misfortune of meeting back on the Citadel. “After that, I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go on a road trip, though. A proper one with a wheeled car, driving coast to coast across America. That’s where I grew up, back on Earth.” She’d never spoken about her past before, with anyone. Even her file was vague on that subject, he understood—the scuttlebutt surrounding the young commander ran the gamut from innocent curiosity to outright scandal, and he suspected the truth lay somewhere in between. 

“You have family there?” he asked, and her face fell a bit. She took a drink to cover it up, but he’d seen it.

“Not anymore. My parents died when I was too little to remember them, and the people who raised me . . . well, let’s just say we’re not on the best of terms right now.” She chuckled, a totally joyless sound. “This crew is the closest thing I’ve had to a family in a long time.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the way she was like gravity, pulling the people she needed into her orbit, himself included. He didn’t know his reasons for reaching out then to pull her against his side and wrap his arm around her, but then he’d never been one to explore his own feelings much. She let herself be drawn to him and nestled against the hard contours of his armor, relishing the heat of his body that seeped into her bones and chased away the worries that had weighed her down since Eden Prime. It was nice, being like this. The sheer size of him and the tremendous strength in his heavily muscled arms made her feel safe, a feeling more precious for its transient nature in her increasingly dangerous life. With every passing day, it was looking more and more like this mission could be her last as they faced down impossible odds and ever more powerful enemies, but Wrex could somehow make her believe that it would all be okay just by being there, a solid presence at her back and by her side. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she idly stroked his forearm.

“I don’t know if the LT would appreciate you thinking of him as family.” It was meant as a casual comment, but once it was out there, hanging in the air between them, he realized it wasn’t.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Shepard. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like a lost varren.”

She sat up slightly to see if he was joking. “What, you think Kaidan and I are together?” She scoffed. “He’s an all right guy, but he’s really not my type.”

“Oh? What is your type?” He leered at her and she punched his side playfully. 

“You old letch.” She settled back against him and laid her hand on his thigh. He was pretty sure she meant it innocently, but he couldn’t help entertaining the idea that she knew exactly how she affected him. Why, after all this time, was it a human who got his blood up and not one of his own kind, he wondered. The answer was not forthcoming, but that didn’t change the way his pulse quickened.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And I’m not going to.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m plenty of fun for the right person,” she said with a wink, and his eyebrows shot up to the red armored plate on his forehead. She grinned, sat up, and stretched, then tilted her beer from side to side to ascertain that it was, indeed, empty. “We’re going to the Citadel for shore leave tomorrow, so rest up. The first thing I’m doing is buying everyone a round of drinks.”

“Hope you have deep pockets, Shepard,” he grumbled as Shepard stood up and started climbing back down to floor level. As she walked away, he called, “Plenty of fun, huh?”

“Yep!” she answered, chuckling to herself as she rounded the corner to the elevator. 

This human was going to be the end of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Shepard had evidently made it her quest to find the single seediest bar on the Citadel for their little outing. Her reasoning was that, if a bar fight broke out, the repairs would be cheaper to pay for. It made a twisted kind of sense, really, and Wrex hoped they had a chance to test out that theory at some point. It had been awhile since he’d had the opportunity to pummel someone with his bare fists, and that sort of thing was good for relieving stress. 

There were other things that were good for stress as well, but he was studiously not thinking of those. Nuh uh, not even with Shepard in a tight tank top and a pair of blue pants that she called “jeans”. They hugged her hips and flared out over her ankles, giving her a curvier shape that called out to be touched. Damn, here he was waxing poetic again. He’d definitely had too much to drink.

“I’ve got an idea,” she announced, staggering a little as she stood up from her chair to address her crew. “We need to play a drinking game, like right now.”

“Cardinal Puff?” Joker suggested, but she shook her head.

“No, too complicated.”

“Beer pong?” 

“We don’t have the equipment.”

Garrus scratched the side of his head in thought. “Ever played Bomb the Pyjack?” he asked.

“No,” said Shepard, but Wrex laughed and clapped the turian on the back hard enough to make his beer slosh all over the table.

“I think I’m starting to like you, Garrus,” he said. “You’re going to need a helmet if you want to play, though.”

“These plates are harder than they look,” Garrus said, knocking his knuckles against his forehead.

Shepard was intrigued now. “Hang on, I’ll go get one.” She disappeared in the direction of the bar, and Kaidan shook his head.

“You guys are insane,” he said.

“What? Not into drinking games?” Wrex asked. He was trying to like the young lieutenant despite his obvious (and failing) affection for Shepard. It was getting harder to deny his own feelings for her—she was like a force of nature, and even in her compassionate moments exhibited a strength that made him sit up and take notice. 

“Not ones that involve protective headgear.”

Shepard reappeared with a half-helmet she’d scrounged from someplace and a huge grin on her tipsy face. “Okay! Now, tell me how to play.” She pulled the helmet on, her short red hair sticking out haphazardly. 

“I learned this from a krogan I ran into a few years ago,” Garrus explained. He stood up with his drink and they grasped each other’s forearms. “All you have to do is headbutt me without spilling your drink. If you spill, you lose and have to do two shots. On the count of three, say ‘bomb the pyjack’ and hit me hard. Got it?”

“Got it. One, two, three—“

“ _Bomb the pyjack!_ ” they yelled, reared back, and bashed their heads together. Even with the added advantage of the helmet, Garrus had a thick skull and hitting him was like ramming her head into a wall. She staggered, but didn’t spill her drink. Garrus, on the other hand, was already four shots further along than she was and a drop spilled out to roll down his arm. He groaned and took two shots.

“I think that’s it for me, commander.”

“Wuss.” Garrus just shrugged and ordered a beer. “Wrex? You’re the only other one here who doesn’t need a helmet.” 

“I have a helmet,” Tali slurred sullenly.

“Yeah, but it might crack or something and then you’d die, and that would really suck.”

“Good point.”

Wrex stood up and they stood a few feet away from the table, their forearms linked. Shepard was utterly serious, except for the small crinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Ready? One, two, three—“

“ _Bomb the pyjack!_ ” they shouted and there was a loud crack when their heads collided. Wrex had hardly felt a thing, and Shepard reeled a bit, but they both managed to keep their drinks from spilling. She cheered and bucked the shot with a flourish.

“Again!” she said, pouring another shot apiece.

Ten rounds later, they were surrounded by a small crowd of people who were all placing bets, mostly on Wrex. What they couldn’t see was how glassy his eyes were getting, or how much weight he was putting on Shepard’s arm. On the eleventh round, Shepard reared back and crashed into him so hard the impact cracked her helmet and sent Wrex tumbling to the ground, yanking her down after him. She landed on top of him and he rolled back and forth like an overturned turtle, which sent her into paroxysms of glee.

“Laugh it up, commander,” he growled.

“It’s just . . . you’re all ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!’” she said before collapsing into giggles again. “We totally cleaned up by the way, everyone was betting on you.”

“Maybe you can buy me some dignity with your winnings.”

Right then, as the crowd dispersed around them, she realized that she was lying on top of him, and that it wasn’t at all an unwelcome view. Her grin softened into a smile and he found himself wishing they were alone so he could find out if her neck was really as soft as it looked.

“You, ah, want to get out of here?” she asked nervously, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“You’re gonna have to get off me first.” She stood and helped him up, the both of them thoroughly sloshed. Shepard waved to the remaining members of the crew (Liara and Ashley had given up long ago and headed back to the ship) and she and Wrex slipped out the side door into the alleyway.

“Have someplace in mind, Shepard?” he asked, and wondered if it would be offensive to suggest a hotel room. The combination of liquor, a little physical exertion, and her proximity was making his armor suddenly feel too restrictive.

“Wrex, I . . .” She hesitated and jammed her hands into her pockets. He’d never seen her so unsure of herself. “I’m not really sure how to say this.”

He stepped in front of her, and although they’d been closer before the air between them felt full of static as the fine hairs on her arms raised and prickled under his scrutiny. She was struck suddenly by how _huge_ he was; he’d always made it a point to stand back when he faced her to keep her from having to crane her neck up at him, but he was easily a full head taller than she was. His red eyes, usually calm off the battlefield, raked over her body and she could almost feel the heat on her skin.

“So don’t say it,” he said. His arms hung at his sides, waiting, patient, and she followed the lines of banded muscle sheathed in black up his bicep where they disappeared under his armor. She wanted more than anything in that moment to find out what he looked like out of that hard red shell. She reached out tentatively and laid her palm flat against his chest, feeling the thrumming pulse and deep vibrations of his basso profundo as he made a low rumble of encouragement. She stepped closer and pressed herself against him, his armor strangely warm through her clothes, and his hand rested lightly on her hip. The pulse in his neck jumped, giving him away as she leaned in closer, taking in the scent of him along his jawline—metal, dry scales, and something indefinable that reminded her of the deserts back home . . . sand and sagebrush. Her hair stirred with his every breath, faster and more shallow than usual, and his clawed fingers wrapped around her waist. 

Of course, that was the moment Kaidan chose to come after her, and stumbled on the two of them in that very compromising position up against the alley wall. He took one look at them and his eyes went dark.

“Shepard,” he said through gritted teeth. “If I’d known you were into lizards, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Wrex growled at him and started to move away, but Shepard stopped him. “No, you’re fine right where you are. Kaidan, I suggest that if you don’t want to walk back to the Normandy with a black eye, you should go away.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Shepard. But, really? A _krogan?_ ”

“What makes you think that it’s any of your business?” she asked, and she felt Wrex reach down to where her sidearm was holstered to her thigh, which had the dual effect of showing her that he was willing to shoot Kaidan for impertinence and made her even more aware that he was still touching her. She covered his hand with hers and shook her head. 

“I didn’t mean—it’s not my business, ma’am,” he said, his spine going rigid. He snapped off a salute (and Shepard thought she had never seen a salute look so sarcastic before), and headed back into the bar. She sighed as soon as he was gone and glanced up at Wrex with a long-suffering expression on her face. 

“Sorry about that. He’s been really obvious about his attraction lately, and I’ve been trying to turn him down without hurting his feelings.”

“Guess subtlety’s not his strong suit.”

She laughed and tilted her head back against the wall. “No, guess not. Although I think we made it pretty obvious just now.”

The moment officially ruined, they started back to the ship. Wrex wasn’t much for hand-holding, but he stayed close enough to her that their arms brushed against each other as they walked through the darkened, quiet streets. She hardly ever got to see the Citadel like this, and it was a welcome change of pace from the harried atmosphere that permeated the station during the simulated daylight hours. 

As they passed through the airlock and boarded the Normandy once more, he pulled her close again and she stumbled a bit, instinctively grabbing his chest plate. He ran a lock of her hair across his knuckles, his other hand a warm weight against her lower back. “Maybe, when we’ve got a little more time . . .” 

“Yeah, maybe.” She rose up on her tip toes and, with both hands on his shoulders, kissed the corner of his mouth. “’Night, Wrex,” she whispered in his ear before leaving him there in the corridor, smiling bemusedly in spite of himself.  
__________

Shepard sat in her cabin just staring at the wall. How had things gone so wrong so fast? Sure, they’d scored a hit on Saren and found the Mu relay. Sure, they were one step closer to bringing him down and stopping Sovereign, but at what cost? Ashley was dead, and she was having a hard time believing that it wasn’t at least partially her fault. She’d rescued Kaidan because they needed someone guarding the nuke, and there was no way to get them both. Ashley had a sister, a family. Someone was going to have to write the letter of condolence, and much as she didn’t want to do it, she didn’t trust the job to anyone else. 

The Council still wasn’t listening, but then the Reapers would have to sit on their heads and sing show tunes before they’d recognize the threat. Dealing with them felt more and more like trying to tunnel to China by beating her head against the ground, and having Joker hang up on them had been the most rewarding part of the conversation. She’d ordered him to fly to the Mu relay, and they would be arriving in the heart of the storm in about six hours or so.

To top it all off, Wrex hadn’t spoken to her since they returned to the Normandy except to grunt noncommittally at her. Not that she was in the mood for much in the way of conversation, but still. The problem was that she had no idea where to start to make it better. _Hey, I know that your people have been searching for a cure for the genophage for about 1,500 years, but you forgive me for blowing it to shit, right?_ After all her talk about saving the rachni, the claim that Saren’s krogan were no better than slaves seemed pretty thin. He’d actually drawn down on her, for crying out loud, and she found herself faced with having to decide whether or not to shoot him. It had been a tense moment, but in the end he’d put away his gun first and told her again that he trusted her. She hoped it was worth it; she just wasn’t sure anymore.

Losing Ashley was just the most personal loss; soon there would be rivers of blood to wade through as the Reapers harvested all organic life. The weight of trillions of people had settled on her shoulders, and she knew that she couldn’t do this alone. Tali, Liara, Kaidan, and Garrus were all firmly in her corner and ready to give their all for the fight that was coming, but she needed Wrex. She needed him perhaps more than anyone, had come to rely on him more than she knew; there had to be some way to salvage this. With a heavy sigh and a quick mental pep talk, she headed down to the cargo bay.

He was alone in the expansive room, sitting on the floor, cleaning his shotgun. She walked slowly, making no attempts to mask her footfalls, and sat down across from him. He was only a few feet away, but it felt like they were separated by a widening gulf she had no idea how to cross.

“Wrex,” she said, and she was amazed by how steady her voice was.

His hands froze for a split second before resuming their work. “Shepard.”

“Wrex, I am so sorry.”

He looked up at her then, his brow furrowed. “No, Shepard. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I let my emotions get in the way of what needed to be done. That base had to be destroyed, and . . . and I . . .” He brought his fist down hard on his leg, and she jumped. “Damn it, I pointed a gun at you! I actually thought about shooting you to save a bunch of brainwashed slaves!” He lowered his head, his hands clenched into fists. “I was blind, stupid, and I let you down.”

The idea that he was avoiding her because he was angry with himself, not her, hadn’t crossed her mind. Without giving herself time to second guess her intentions, she rolled up the scattered parts of his gun in the cloth they sat on and moved it aside, then knelt in front of him. He turned his face up to hers and for once he’d let down his defenses and she could see the sorrow there; the pain he carried for his people who had been so wronged, the conflict that raged within him over whether or not he was doing the right thing as a krogan and a clan leader. She slid her arms around him, into the warm space between his neck and his hump, and hugged him. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in a ragged exhale and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

Here, right now, was something she’d known but hadn’t really understood—somewhere along the line, Wrex had gone from being a good friend and crewmate, someone to fight beside and maybe fool around with, to something more. She hadn’t planned for this, to go hurtling into the most dangerous mission of her entire career with so much to lose. She clung to him, the words she wanted to say crowding around her throat and leaving room for none of them-- _Please, you have to make it through this, I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you now because, even though part of me is screaming that I’m crazy for even thinking about this, I think I want to be with you._ All that and more made its way into the almost desperate hold on him, and although she couldn’t say any of it out loud, he thought he understood anyway. 

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him with a soft moan as if to say, _Finally._ His clawed fingers, gloved and armored, crept up under her shirt and ran across the sloped planes of her back. She started releasing the seals of his armor, stacking each section next to them in a neat pile and peeling back the undersuit that clung to him like a second skin. She raised her arms and he pulled her shirt up over her head, watching as her hair lifted and fell in red waves over her bared shoulders. It wasn’t until the chilly air hit her skin that she remembered where they were and that someone could walk in on them at any moment.

“Not here,” she said as he leaned in and licked from her collarbone to the underside of her jaw, and her skin puckered into gooseflesh as she shivered.

“Where?”

“The Mako.”

He met her eyes with a lopsided grin. “Really?”

“The backseats are big enough, and I don’t want to wait for the elevator.” She released the last catch on his chest plate and lifted it off, revealing the thick muscles banding his chest and stomach. The scalloped scales there looked uniform until a closer inspection showed that they started off lighter in the middle of his chest and changed gradually into a deep blood red as they spread out. Shepard lowered her head to those scales and kissed them lightly, earning a rumbling groan that vibrated throughout her entire body.

“We’ll be at Ilos by the time that thing— _mmph_ —makes it up to your cabin,” he said, breathing faster now as she nipped at his shoulder, chasing the pain with her tongue and sucking at his skin. He had to shift a little as his hardening cock pressed against his codpiece.

“How much time do we have, anyway?”

“About four hours.”

“That’s probably the best sentence that’s ever been said, Wrex.” He nodded in agreement and grabbed her thighs as he stood up and carried her over to the tank. She reached back to open the door and threw her head back as he nuzzled her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. She unhooked the offending garment and tossed it into the darkened interior, then she climbed inside and fairly dragged him in after her and slammed the door shut. 

It was nearly pitch black inside except for the ambient glow of the standby lights on the dash, and all she could see was a vague outline of his hulking body as he took off the rest of his armor. She watched, mesmerized, as he shimmied his undersuit down to reveal—

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she breathed. He followed her gaze and chuckled. 

“Never seen a quad before?”

“Well, that and . . .” She reached out and encircled his cock, stroking the smoother skin there slowly to get an idea of what he was working with. He was longer than the average human by a few inches, and as thick as her wrist. Not totally out of the question, but big enough that he would take some getting used to. She squeezed him and he let out a moan so low-pitched that it tickled her eardrums and made the muscles in her stomach quiver in anticipation. He had her move up onto the long bench seat and spread her knees apart so he could settle himself between her legs. He licked and nipped down her body, paying special attention to any spots that made her shudder and moan until she was thrumming with need. His tongue ran up along her inner thigh and paused just before reaching her wet and open lips. She shifted her hips, trying to make him go that last inch, but he held her steady.

“Is this what you want, Shepard?” he asked, more softly than he’d ever heard him speak before.

“Yes. Oh god, yes.”

“You smell so good . . . here.” His finger trailed the length of her pussy, and she arched back into the seat with a moan. He moved closer, and she could feel his hot breath on her aching wetness before he dragged his tongue hard across her core and her thighs clamped down on either side of his hump. She held the bottom edge of the seat in a white-knuckled grip while Wrex familiarized himself with her body, his fingers circling her opening before delving inside, his skilled tongue searching out every sweet spot he could find. The scent of her here was heady and wonderful, thick with her desire for him, and he thrust his hips into the air in time with his tongue. Her moans on every breath filled his ears and he met them with his own, the deep bass rumbling through her sweet pussy, and he could feel the muscles twitching and tightening as he lavished his attention on the hardened nub at the top of her folds. He gripped his cock and teased along the base, not enough to come but enough to make him ache to be inside her. 

Heat pooled between her legs and spread down her legs until her thighs shook and the pressure built in her core, slowly filling her up until she thought she’d scream with the need for release. His fingers thrust inside her and brushed against that spot deep inside that she could never quite reach on her own and the pleasure finally crested and broke over her and she bucked into him, crying out as she came. He continued to lick her slowly, drawing out the aftershocks until she lay limp against the seat. With one last light kiss to her inner thigh he loomed over her, a red silhouette in the near-darkness. Shepard wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer until she felt the tip pressing against her still-sensitive body.

“Just . . . go slow,” she said, her gaze traveling down his body to that gloriously big cock between his legs.

“I think ‘slow’ is the only speed this old man can manage right now,” he said, only half-joking. He braced his arms on either side of her and touched his forehead to hers, his eyes closed. “It’s been too long, Shepard.”

She kissed him, long and lingering, tasting her body on his mouth. “For me, too.” She reached between them to guide him and he pushed slowly into her. She gasped and held onto his arms as he stretched her almost to the point of pain, but the sensation of being so full was absolutely _delicious_. The way she moaned and tensed around his cock was making it hard to stop himself from just shoving in as far as he could at once, and his claws dug shallow furrows into the hard metal seat. She was so damned _tight_ and she felt amazing, so slick and warm and not entirely unlike a krogan in that regard, except for the muscles that contracted around him and drew him deeper into her body. Finally their hips met and he let out a huff of satisfaction; it felt so good to be like this with a woman again after such a long time.

“Hang on a second,” she said, breathless, and had him pull out and move back.

“You all right?”

“Fine, it’s just that my neck is jammed against the wall.” She slid to her knees on the floorboard and turned around, propping her elbows on the seat. Wrex took a moment to appreciate the view (this wasn’t a position he got to try normally, there was usually a stubby tail in the way) before sinking into her again. He felt even better like this, and she slammed her palm into the wall as he pulled out slowly before thrusting home, hitting her g-spot like a freight train that made her eyes roll back in her head. She rocked back against him, urging him to go faster, and he held onto her hip with one hand while the other slid up her neck to cup her throat and stroke her jaw possessively.

“Do I feel good to you, Shepard?” He licked her shoulder blade in lazy circles, and absolutely loved the way she moaned and gasped and shivered under his touch.

“God, yes. Wrex, please—“ She wanted so much more, wanted him to pound her hard, she ached for it, but he held her hips fast.

“Do you want me to _fuck_ you?” he asked, punctuating the question with a vicious thrust that bruised her thighs against the edge of the seat and she threw her head back, her hair tickling the side of his face. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his long life.

“Yes!” she cried.

His chest rumbled with a deep chuckle and he pulled her up against him, dragging his hand down to squeeze her breast. Funny things, those, but he had to admit they were fun to play with. “Then brace yourself.” And with that, he let off the brakes and fucked her—not as hard as he would one of his own kind, not at first, but her entire body demanded that he go harder, faster, and he was happy to oblige. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the wall and even though she knew she’d be hurting once the endorphins wore off, right now this was exactly what she needed. He was as rough as she wanted him to be, not bothering to hold back now as his scaly flesh smacked into hers over and over, his thick length filling her so completely. She could feel him lose his rhythm, his breathing short and ragged, and as his clawed fingers dug into her skin the pleasure built, flooding her body and she clutched his hand, lacing her fingers with his. 

They raced each other to the finish and she bucked wildly as she came, her fluttering walls drawing his orgasm from him in a hot rush that spilled inside her and trickled down her thighs. Wrex dipped his head into the crook of her neck, running the flat of his tongue over her skin and tasting the salty sweat, the smooth alien skin, and the clean scent of rain that he was beginning to associate with her. He pulled out of her with a groan and sat back against the seat opposite her. Shepard settled on the floor in front of him and leaned back against his chest, his legs splayed out on either side of her. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done this before,” he said after a long silence filled with only their mingled breathing in the darkness.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, krogan usually only mate to make children. There’s a whole process—submitting breeding requests, finding a fertile female, going to the female camp . . . it’s a lot more complicated.”

“That sounds really, um . . . well, passionless I guess.”

“It is, in a way. Wasn’t always like that, though. Before the genophage, we had families, took lifemates. Now, we treat our women like bargaining chips. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t been back to Tuchanka in a long time.”

“So, you’ve done the whole ‘breeding request’ thing?” He grunted in the affirmative. “Ever have any children?” she asked, and he stiffened before answering.

“Two. I would have had two, if . . . if they’d lived.”

Shepard turned slightly to see his face, but his gaze remained firmly on the floor. “I’m sorry.” He saw her then, and it was empathy, not pity, written across her features. The empathy of a woman who knew what it was to lose children; he wanted to ask about it, but didn’t. “Having a family sounds nice.”

“You say that like you’ve never had one.”

“I haven’t. I grew up an orphan with a bunch of other orphans who didn’t have time to give a shit about me while we all scrounged for scraps, trying to survive.” She sighed and leaned against him again, taking his hand and studying it as she spoke. “It was a rough way to grow up, but I think I came out of it all right.”

“That you did.” He looked down at her, at the woman who was at once so alien and yet so familiar. “Shepard, you should know . . . as long as I live, you’ll always have a place with Clan Urdnot.”

She froze, holding his hand in her lap. He felt something drip onto his arm and roll down, leaving a wet trail across his scales, followed by another one, and her voice sounded thicker when she said, “Thank you, Wrex.”

Reluctantly, they pried themselves out of the little cocoon of silence they’d made, got dressed, armored up, and checked their weapons. They would be arriving at Ilos soon and would be ready for whatever Saren threw at them, but they both felt better about their chances as long as they had each other’s backs.

Really, she thought, there was something to be said about having a 400 pound krogan at one’s back—it did wonders for one’s outlook on life.


	3. Chapter 3

Repairs were already underway and the keepers moved about the ruined sections of the Citadel, building and integrating construction done by the workers hired on by the Council. Shepard led her crew through throngs of wide-eyed people toward the temporary Council hall at a hotel near the embassies. She, along with the whole ground team, had been summoned for a debriefing and to try and piece together exactly what had happened during the last battle between Saren and Sovereign. Her face was stony and determined as the crowds parted before her wearing looks of wariness and awe. The fact that she looked ready to blow a hole in the first person who got in her way was only exacerbated by the red hulking krogan shadowing her.

“Any ideas yet on what you’re going to say?” Wrex asked in a low voice to avoid being overheard by the hovering camera drones.

“I’m going to lay it all out as diplomatically as I can.” He grumbled, but she continued, “At first. I’m not above shoving their noses in it if they refuse to listen.”

“How about giving them a good thrashing?” He grinned deviously. “Diplomacy always goes faster when there are fists involved.”

“As satisfying as it would be to smack Valern around a little, that could prove counter-productive.”

“Tell you what—when you’re done, if she decides to stick to her guns and keep acting like the galaxy is safe as houses while the Reapers bear down on us, you hold her down and I’ll smack her for you.”

She ducked her head and smiled. It was the first time she’d smiled since they’d arrived at the Citadel and it really started to sink in—what they were facing, and how bloody the future would be if they didn’t find a way to stop the impending invasion. “Deal.”

They were met by a small group of C-Sec officers, and Garrus greeted each of them by name. The one he’d called Artaeus, a turian with a thin purple stripe bisecting his face, led the way into the chamber, which was really just a converted ballroom in one of the more posh hotels that had survived the battle intact. Tevos, Sparatus, and Valern were already there along with Anderson, who shook her hand and nodded. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked like he’d aged about ten years since she’d last seen him only a week ago.

“Shepard,” Sparatus began, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, “glad you could join us. We’ve been trying to put together a picture of the events on the ground. We have all seen your official report, but were hoping you could tell us again, in your own words.” 

Shepard cleared her throat, looked down at her feet to collect her thoughts, then began speaking. She talked for a long time, outlining everything that happened—the events leading up to the attack as well as the invasion of the geth and Saren’s attempt to take over the Citadel and usher in the Reaper invasion. Once she mentioned the word “Reaper”, though, Wrex saw the Councilors exchange furtive glances and their faces clouded with doubt. They had already decided not to believe her. Judging from how they’d reacted over the comm to the same news she was delivering here, they all should have known that the Council wouldn’t listen. At one point, Joker had quipped that it would take a Reaper sitting on their heads to convince them of the truth, but evidently even that wouldn’t be enough.

“The implants Saren had accepted from Sovereign activated and . . .” She swallowed hard before going on, “. . . burned him up from the inside. He was screaming, and when he stopped there was nothing left of him but a metal skeleton. He moved like one of those geth hoppers, like a spider. He was so fast . . .”

“Shepard,” Anderson murmured, shooting her a sidelong glance. She straightened up again and continued with a more firm voice.

“By the time we finally put him down, Sovereign was falling and we only just made it out of the way in time before one of its legs came crashing through the window. That was when Anderson came in and helped us out of the wreckage.”

“You, the quarian, and the krogan?” Valern asked.

“Tali and Wrex, yes.”

Sparatus shook his head. “You certainly keep strange company, Shepard. Spectres have the authority to requisition and commandeer the necessary forces to complete their assignments, but I don’t think anyone has ever had a more . . . varied crew.”

Shepard’s eyes darkened and she leaned over the pedestal. “Each and every member of my crew is a valuable asset to my team. If others were too squeamish to pull resources from less popular sources, then it’s their loss. I could never have pulled this off without them.” Her words made the whole crew stand a little straighter, made them feel a little stronger.

“Duly noted,” Tevos said, raising her hands placatingly. “Getting back to the business at hand, I cannot bring myself to believe your assertion that this whole atrocity—Saren’s betrayal, raising a geth army, attacking the Citadel—was perpetrated by the Reapers. They are legends, myths, nothing more.”

“But you _saw_ Sovereign!” Shepard said, pounding her fist on the podium. “It was _right there_ , burning through those ships like they were tissue paper. If it wasn’t a Reaper, what do you think it was?”

“You said that Saren moved like a geth when he was—“ Sparatus stopped, unsure how to describe Saren’s state at that point.

“When he was dead,” Shepard supplied. “He was fully under Sovereign’s control by then.”

“At any rate, you said he moved like a geth. Who’s to say that wasn’t what Sovereign was? Just a very elaborate piece of geth technology?”

“The geth have never built anything like that,” Tali said, speaking from the back. When everyone turned to look at her, she twisted her fingers together and shuffled nervously, but continued with a nod from Shepard. “I’ve been studying the geth for a long time, and so has my father. None of us can be completely sure of what they’re doing beyond the Veil, but if they had technology like what Sovereign had, my people would have seen evidence of it by now.”

“She’s right,” Shepard said. “The quarians would have seen—“

“The Migrant Fleet is famous for playing things very close to the vest,” Valern interrupted and Wrex glared at her. “Your people could have known that the geth’s technology was evolving for years, and would never have told us.”

“ _It wasn’t the geth_ ,” Shepard insisted. “It wasn’t. I’ve spent months fighting them, and if they were slinging Reaper-grade tech I’d have seen it. The geth were just pawns, like Saren, like Benezia. Like the rachni during the wars, like the husks on Eden Prime. It all boils down to the Reapers, and sooner or later you’re going to have to face the facts—they are coming, and they are coming soon.” She pointed at each Councilor in turn and they regarded her with something akin to the pity reserved for the delusional. “The Protheans knew them for what they are and they were wiped out, to a man. They fought so hard with weapons and tech we can only dream of, and they _all died_. If we don’t start preparing _now_ —“

“Thank you, Shepard,” Valern said, interrupting again. Wrex wondered how fast he could get her in a half-Nelson and let Shepard get in one good hit before anyone stopped him. “That will be all. Please stay on the station for the time being; we may need to confer with you again about some of the details in your report.”

Shepard looked like she wanted to protest, but she just leaned on the podium and shook her head in frustration. “I will. I assume you’ve arranged for accommodations for me and my team?”

“Yes,” Tevos said, “this hotel has been gracious enough to clear the top floor for your use. The front desk has been instructed to retrieve your belongings from the Normandy as soon as you give the word. Thank you again, Commander.” The asari gave her a nod that seemed more friendly than the others, and Shepard thought for a fleeting moment that she might be able to convince her, at least, given the time. 

Anderson turned to Shepard and sighed. “For what it’s worth, I believe you. I’ve seen what the geth can do, and there’s no way they’re capable of the wholesale destruction that happened here.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

“I’ll keep fighting the good fight here, as long as you keep doing it out there. We need to be as ready as we can, no matter what the Council says. You’ve been good at garnering support from non-Council races,” he said, going thoughtful. “The batarians won’t want to get involved, but well send along a warning anyway. When the Reapers hit, our petty disputes aren’t going to matter anymore.”

“Maybe we could talk to the volus and elcor ambassadors, get them on board,” Shepard added. 

Anderson nodded. “The hanar won’t be much help, but I’ve heard from some of my sources that they train drell assassins on Kahje. Might be worth looking into. You and Tali could convince the quarians, hopefully, and—“

“And the krogan will be ready,” Wrex said, stepping forward. Anderson, to his enormous credit, didn’t back down from him. “You can count on it. This kind of war is what we live for.”

“Well, all right,” Anderson said, extending a hand. Wrex stared at it for a beat before shaking it. “Udina and I will brainstorm about this and run some ideas by you, Shepard. Maybe, if we can get enough of them together, we might have the forces we need to survive the initial onslaught of the invasion.”

“I hope so,” Shepard said, and saluted him. He snapped off a salute in return and dismissed them. Wrex and Liara fell into step with her as they made their way to the elevators.

“Do you really think that if we get the non-Council races together we can hold off the Reapers?” Liara asked.

“Maybe, until the others see the threat for what it is.” She sounded confident enough, but Wrex could see the truth of what she thought in her eyes, because he was thinking it, too. “If we’re going to make a strong stand, we’re going to need the krogan.”

“Like I said, I’ll take care of it,” Wrex said. “We can talk about that later, though.”

“Indeed,” Shepard said. “We’re all tired. We’ll meet up again tomorrow morning in the lobby, maybe go out for breakfast? My treat.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kaidan said, and hit the button for their floor. The young biotic had calmed down after catching them in the alleyway outside the bar, and had even gone so far as to apologize to Wrex for acting like an ass. He told him to take that apology to Shepard, and thought he must have done so because she’d stopped death-staring at him when she passed him in the halls.

There were a dozen rooms at the top of the hotel and Shepard directed each of the crew where she needed them, always thinking of the tactical advantages. She claimed the room closest to the elevator and, when everyone else had closed their respective doors, informed Wrex that he would be bunking with her. He was more pleased than he wanted to be with the arrangement and followed her into the room with high hopes, only to stand there with his hand on the light switch while Shepard stormed over to the wall and slammed her fist into it with a choked cry. There was a thin streak of blood left on the wallpaper when she took her hand away, but she didn’t seem to notice that she’d split the skin on two of her knuckles.

“God _damn_ them. Sons of bitches, all of them, up there in their ivory tower with their thumbs up their butts while their people are hung out in the wind. Just . . . _fuck!_ ” She raked her fingers harshly through her hair and kept reaching for her gun, but had nothing to shoot at. With another grunt that sounded more like a sob than an angry shout, she drove her fist into the wall again and made a print of her fingers in blood. Before she could do it again, Wrex went over and grabbed her shoulder. She spun around, eyes wide, like she’d forgotten he was there, then sighed and bowed her head. “God dammit, Wrex.”

“I know, but what did you expect? We both saw this coming a mile away.”

“You know what the worst part of it is?” she asked. “On some level, I understand where they’re coming from. If I hadn’t seen Vigil on Ilos, or talked to Sovereign on Virmire, I might not believe in the Reapers, either. We’re trying to sell the idea that the boogeyman is real, and that’s a lot to swallow all at once without truckloads of hard evidence.”

“What more hard evidence could we give them?” Wrex asked, and brought her hand up to examine the broken skin. Blood covered the back of her hand and had dripped down her fingers, but she probably hadn’t broken anything. “You said it yourself, Sovereign was right outside these windows, cutting through dreadnoughts like it was nothing. You were right about Saren, you were right about what he was planning, and you were right about him and his geth invading the Citadel. Eventually, they’ll have to see that you’re right about the Reapers, too.”

“I just hope they see it before it’s too late for it to matter.” She started to go into the bathroom to run some water over her hand, but Wrex surprised her by licking the blood off with his wide, rough tongue. She’d seen him do the same to himself before, and he’d told her that krogan are taught from birth not to waste resources. Blood was a valuable resource, particularly on long missions in the waste with little to no water. His tongue stung a little, but he was careful and when she was clean, he rubbed medigel onto her wounds. 

“Better?” he asked, and she knew he wasn’t talking about her busted knuckles. She exhaled heavily and nodded. “Good. Now, I’m assuming that you’re not going to be able to sleep, insomniac that you are, so what do you say we go out somewhere?”

“You want to go hit a bar or something?”

Wrex grinned. “You read my mind.”  
__________

( _Thirty minutes later . . ._ )

“You were right!” Shepard hollered, then ducked as a barstool went flying over her head. “This is way more fun than what I had planned.”

“See?” Wrex shouted back. The guy he was fighting managed to land a decent blow to the side of his face, which the krogan countered with a head butt that sent the poor man sprawling to the floor. “Told you.” Two more guys came out of nowhere and one of them tried to jump up and grab Wrex’s hump. He roared and threw him off, sending him sliding over the bar and into a rack of bottles, and the other one quickly gave up and fled when he saw the mirthful gleam in his red eyes.

Shepard, light on her feet despite having downed two beers while waiting for the opportune moment to pick a fight, threw a quick one-two punch that had her opponent reeling. The turian, who was much larger than she was but twice as drunk, stumbled over his fallen buddy and collapsed in a heap. “We should do this more often. You really-- _oof!_ \--know how to work off stress!”

The area around them was momentarily clear while the other patrons caught their second wind, and Wrex leaned back to Shepard’s ear and muttered, “I know a few other stress relief techniques I think you’ll like even better.”

“Ooooh, I like the sound of that.” The bartender, having dug his balls out of his purse, popped up from behind the counter and leveled a pistol at Shepard, who threw her hands up in exasperation. “Now, is _that_ fair? Here we are, having a good fight, when you decide to throw a wrench in the works. And look at this thing!” Three lightning-fast moves later and the bartender was disarmed and staring at his now-empty hands. She reached in and disabled the firing mechanism, then held up the offending weapon with a disbelieving smirk on her face. “What a piece of shit. You couldn’t even hurt my _feelings_ with this thing.” Wrex burst out laughing just as they heard the whine of a C-Sec siren coming closer.

“I think that’s our exit cue, Shepard.” He started to drag her out of the front door, but two armed officers burst into the bar searching for them. Without taking the time to think about it, Shepard grabbed his hand and they took off for the storerooms. They wove through stacks of liquor crates and plowed through the back door just as the officers came into the room. Shepard vaulted over a railing with Wrex hot on her heels and they ducked into a darkened alcove, backing in as far as they could into the shadows. Shepard held a hand over his mouth (completely unnecessarily, but he wasn’t about to complain) and they waited until the officers passed them by before she looked up at him with a wide grin.

“I haven’t had this much fun in years,” she whispered. She went over thoughtful and frowned. “You know, it’s just occurred to me that my idea of a good night involves bar fights and getting chased by the cops into a dark alley.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Wrex asked, trying his best to whisper back. “We’re alone . . . with no one else around . . . in a dark alley.” He pressed her back against the wall and shoved his armored thigh between her legs, drawing a gasp from her. “Wanna?”

“Hell yeah.” 

“Then take those pants off, Commander.” 

As he fumbled with the catches of his armor, he knew that this kind of behavior was completely unlike him. Here he was, acting like a fledgling fresh from the Rite, on the Citadel of all places, with a human. About to have semi-public sex with said human. While hiding from the police. The voices of his ancestors chided him from inside his head, asking him just what the hell he thought he was doing, and he had no answer. Something about Shepard brought this out in him, this adolescent recklessness, and he was surprised by how good it felt to let his guard down just a little.

He finally got his codpiece off and tossed it on top of Shepard’s boots and pants where they lay discarded in the corner. Wrex hoisted her up by her thighs and she hooked her knees over his hips, then reached down between them to get him into position. 

“Don’t hold back,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He took her at her word and slid into her all at once and she threw her head back with her mouth open in a silent scream, her body fighting to adjust to him. He didn’t wait for her go-ahead, either, just pinned her back against the wall and fucked her hard. He tried to muffle the low groans that rode the end of every breath, but he was too turned on by everything to care much if anyone heard. 

Her hips rocked in time with his and she pressed her forehead against his brow plate, eyes closed. When she gasped out his name as she hit her peak and came, Wrex dragged his hands up her back under her shirt, needing to feel her bare skin, and he accidentally scratched her when his fingers clamped down into fists and he spilled inside her. 

When he opened his eyes again, breathing hard and enjoying the momentary quiet, he saw Shepard watching him, her green eyes heavy-lidded. She touched his face and traced the bumpy skin along his jaw, the edge of his mouth, the deep scars that cut into his chin. Her gaze met his and she flushed pink, embarrassed at having been caught thinking . . . whatever it was she was thinking. 

Shepard lowered herself to the ground and grabbed her underwear, using it to clean herself up as best she could. She threw them in the trash afterward and once they’d both gotten dressed again, she and Wrex went back to the hotel. They were quiet the whole trip there, each of them lost in their own musings about what, exactly, had just changed while they hadn’t been looking. Shepard let him have the shower first, and he was about halfway done when she called through the door.

“Hey, mind if I come in for a minute?”

“Sure. What, you want to join me? Gotta warn you, I don’t think I’ve got another round in me.” He heard the door open and her sharp intake of breath a moment later. Wrex moved the curtain aside and saw her craning her neck around, trying to see her back in the mirror. There were two parallel scratches running across each of her shoulder blades, jagged furrows in the smooth skin. He hadn’t thought he’d scratched her that hard, but he kept forgetting she was more fragile than she looked.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to do that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s some medigel in my pack. Go get it, and I’ll put it on for you.”

“No.” She touched the top edge of the marks that she could reach, studying them in the foggy mirror. “I want them to scar.” 

Wrex didn’t know what to say to that, so he just had her get into the shower with him so he could clean her back a bit to avoid infection. When they were both dried off, he immediately climbed into the bed while she did her evening necessaries. A few minutes later, she came out and stood over him. “Wrex.”

“Hmmph?”

“You’re taking up the entire bed.”

“Mmmph.” He rolled onto his side and pulled the covers back so she could get in beside him, then pulled them up to her shoulder and smoothed her hair down for good measure. Another few minutes went by and he said, “I can feel you staring at me.”

“Sorry. It’s just . . . you don’t seem like the cuddling type, and I wasn’t sure if—“

“Shepard?”

“Yeah?”

“Get your butt over here and go to sleep.” She chuckled at his grumpiness and curled up against him, her back to his chest, and he put a heavy arm over her. It didn’t take long for her to drift off, and Wrex cracked an eyelid to look at those scratches, the ones she said she wanted to keep, and fell asleep himself soon afterward.


	4. Chapter 4

The next four days passed in a blur. They hardly got to see each other—Shepard was in and out of the embassies all day, presenting evidence and begging for an audience with each race’s governing body. Shepard, Kaidan, and Joker were called to the Alliance headquarters for a vid comm with Hackett and the members of the Alliance Command to ascertain where humanity stood in the wake of the Battle of the Citadel, as it would be called in the history books. Anderson came in about halfway through the conference and provided Shepard with some much-needed backup, for which she was eternally grateful.

Wrex, for his part, was hooking up with old contacts and allies back on Tuchanka. His brother, Wreav, had been keeping the clan leader’s seat warm for him ever since the bad business with Jarrod had forced him off-world, and the little bastard hadn’t changed at all these many years, if the reports he was getting were even half-accurate. The clans were still constantly battling for territory, still hoarding supplies, still trading females, still killing each other in the name of ‘honor’. There were many krogan, however, who were tired of all the in-fighting and longed for a real war, something that would give them a purpose again. Well, Wrex thought, he could certainly deliver one of those. It would be hard, climbing back up into power, but he thought he could do it. Getting the clans to unite under one banner, though, would be a different story.

The stresses of the day faded once evening came and they returned to their room. They’d discuss the events of the day and, while she was turning into a brilliant diplomat, she’d listen to his advice, too. Most of the time it turned out to be good advice, like when he’d suggested mentioning to the volus that the Council was dragging its feet, which got their ambassador interested—Din Korlack wanted to get one up on the Council races so much that he was willing to believe Shepard in the hopes that when the war was over, it could be said that the volus were there from the beginning.

None of that sort of talk was allowed in bed, though, when they did everything they could to make each other forget that there was anything else beyond their door. With her warm body wrapped around him, Wrex couldn’t find the motivation to think too hard about the way his chest seemed to swell until it almost hurt, but it was a good ache; he’d only felt anything like it once or twice before, but not with this intensity. There was a name for it, he knew, but he didn’t dare attach the term to it, or to Shepard, without taking the time to consider what it might mean. That line of thought would be waiting in the wings for a long time, though—Urdnot Wrex had never been one to spend much time on introspection.

On the fourth day, Shepard arrived at the room later than usual, and flung herself on the bed with an angry huff. “What?” he asked, because this break in routine seemed to call for him to say something.

“The Council has received reports of geth in the Omega Nebula,” she intoned, quoting what Valern had told her only an hour ago. “They want me to leave tomorrow to investigate.”

Wrex sat on the bed next to her head, and she reached up for his hand. “I have to go back to Tuchanka, get to work on this alliance.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “This wasn’t going to last forever, you knew that. Besides, civilian life doesn’t suit the likes of us, Shepard.”

“No kidding. We’d both be insane within a month.” She slid her hand up and down his forearm, pressing her head against his leg. He wasn’t quite used to being touched so much, but he was going to miss it. “It was nice, though, while it lasted.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he rumbled. “Still have one more night. Any ideas on how to spend it?”

“A few,” she said with a smile. “But I really have to get some sleep eventually.” The swelling in his chest made his breath shallow and his head light when she pulled him down beside her. Anything he might have said after that stuck in his throat, and besides, it was too big to talk about right now. There was always time.

The next morning, they went to the docks with Liara. Garrus had gone back to C-Sec to await the Council’s decision on his Spectre application, Tali had hitched a ride back to the Migrant Fleet, Kaidan had been called to another assignment and had left the night before, and Liara had signed on with Shepard for one more mission before heading back to Thessia. The young asari had gotten a taste of the soldier’s life and found it to her liking. Wrex felt a little better knowing that she and Shepard would be watching each other’s backs, and that Joker would be flying. He’d come to trust and like each member of their team for different reasons, and hoped they’d all have the chance to work together again.

“Wrex,” she said, and there was something else catching in her throat that she wanted to say, but couldn’t. They’d talked about this, of course. She hadn’t liked what he had to say on the matter, but had to admit he was right. After the Battle of the Citadel, Shepard became something more than human, more than a soldier. Her name was known across the galaxy as the one leading the charge against a wholly new threat, larger than anyone had seen since the Protheans. The one thing that might keep the salarians, and perhaps the turians, from taking her seriously was finding out she was carrying on a relationship with a krogan. It was unfair, but there it was. So now, in front of others, she couldn’t say the goodbye she wanted to say, and he could tell it was eating her up. 

“Shepard,” he replied, and shook her hand, allowing himself one lingering moment before letting her go back to the Normandy. Liara put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’ll take care of her, Wrex.” 

At the last minute before the airlock closed, he had an awful feeling of foreboding and he had to restrain himself from abandoning his plan in favor of following her. 

Had he known what was going to happen, he would have.  
__________ 

//SECURE COMMUNICATION 34902: Cmdr J. Shepard/U. Wrex FROM SSV NORMANDY TO [ERROR], TUCHANKA//ALLIANCE NOTICE: Any attempts to intercept this transmission will be prosecuted by Systems Alliance High Command, Arcturus Station.//

//BEGIN TRANSMISSION//

JS—Wrex? You awake?

UW—Am now.

JS—You could just turn the pinging off, you know.

UW—Could have been important.

UW—Is it important?

JS—Not really, just up late and wanted to talk to someone. How’s the unification project coming along?

UW—Slowly. Had to bash a few skulls when I got here, but I think I can kick Wreav off his throne soon.

JS—He has a throne?

UW—Built it himself. If his head gets any bigger, he’s gonna need a wheelbarrow to carry it around.

JS—Bet you’d look hot on a throne. :)

UW—What the hell is that?

JS—What the hell is what?

UW—That symbol.

JS—It’s a smiley face.

UW—Doesn’t look like any face I’ve ever seen.

UW—Nevermind, I see it now. What’s it for?

JS—To show you I’m smiling right now, since it’s hard to show inflection in text.

UW—Oh.

UW—So you think I’d look hot on a throne?

JS—Hell yeah. I could buy a gold bra and pretend to be Princess Leia to your Jabba the Hut while you feed people to thresher maws. 

UW—A gold bra? Now that’s an idea I can get behind.

JS—Only the best for you, babe.

UW—I’m almost 500 years old, Shepard.

JS—It’s a term of endearment, like ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’.

UW—Please don’t ever call me that in front of people.

JS—What? Would it kill you to be a little mushy with me?

UW—I’m going back to sleep.

JS—You’d do that? Just leave me all alone out here . . . in space . . . in the middle of the Amada System with nothing but some big-ass ice planet for company?

UW—Crap.

JS—Come on, give it a shot.

UW-- . . . 

UW—Okay, fine. I miss your hands.

JS—Why my hands?

UW—Don’t make me do this.

JS—No, now you have to tell me. What is it about my hands?

UW—They’re small, and I like your fingers. 

JS—Really?

UW—Yeah.

JS-- . . . 

JS—Awwww! I feel all warm and fuzzy now.

UW—I will put you in the varren pit if you tell anyone I said that.

JS—Too late, I already told Liara. She says hi.

UW—I hate you.

JS—No you don’t.

UW—No I don’t.

UW-- :)

JS—I think yours would look more like >:]

UW—You may be right about that.

UW-- . . . 

UW—You asleep already? 

UW—Shepard?

UW—It’s been thirty minutes, message me again when you get back into comm range.

//END TRANSMISSION//  
__________

////SECURE COMMUNICATION 35423: U. Wrex/Cmdr J. Shepard FROM [ERROR], TUCHANKA TO SSV NORMANDY//Urdnot Clan Leader Notice: Do not attempt to intercept our transmissions or we will hunt you down. Don’t test us. You’ve been warned.//

//BEGIN TRANSMISSION//

UW—I heard about what happened to the Normandy, it’s all over the extranet. Liara called me yesterday and told me what Joker said, about you getting spaced. If you’re out there, send me something and I’ll send an extraction team.

UW—Hell, I’ll come myself if you tell me where you are.

UW—Come on, Shepard. 

UW—Don’t be dead.

UW-- . . . 

UW--Please.

UW-- . . . 

//END TRANSMISSION//


	5. Chapter 5

_He feels her before he’s even fully awake—fingers on his chest, tracing the scars there. For a while he lays there pretending to sleep just so she won’t stop. Her hands slide higher to his neck, scraping lightly against his scales, and she lays her palm on his face, the pads of her fingers feathery and insubstantial, like smoke, against his eyelids. He has no idea what she’s thinking about, but he can feel her gaze as she memorizes every bump and crag and contour. She’s never this gentle with him in their waking hours. Maybe she thinks he doesn’t like it, being who and what he is, but when he’s feeling honest he knows that these moments in the early morning when she thinks he’s still asleep are becoming more and more precious to him._

_“Hey,” he says gruffly, then clears his throat._

_“Hey.” She starts to pull back, but he grabs her hand and brings it back to his jaw, where she’d been studying the lay of the land. She smiles a little, then resumes her explorations. He closes his eyes again, more relaxed than he’s been in decades. “Did I wake you up?”_

_“No,” he says, even though she did. But that’s all right. Her lips are on his, soft and pliant, and even though he’s not equipped to return the favor he likes it when she does that. He’s turning into a terrible krogan, he thinks—or maybe she’s helping him remember what his people had been before the genophage made them hard, back when their culture was about more than war and pain and blood. All that was there, too, but there was also beauty on Tuchanka, and green things, and the occasional bout of peace._

_Back when his people had time to love. She doesn’t know yet (at least, he thinks she doesn’t—women are difficult to read, and human women even more so), but she’s helping him to remember._

_“Want to go get some breakfast with me?” she asks, rising up above him, her hands on either side of his head, and he opens his eyes to see her with her red hair hanging in twisted tangles all around her face. It’s ridiculous, her bedhead, and it breaks his heart how beautiful she is. He reaches up to stroke her cheek with the back of his clawed finger, and her breath catches in her throat before releasing with a shudder as she turns her head into his touch._

_“In a minute.” He doesn’t want to get out of bed yet. Something will happen if he does and it’s there, pushing at the edges of his mind. He doesn’t want to wake up yet._

_Wake up?_

_Oh, of course._

_“I’m so sorry, Wrex,” she says, and lays down on his chest to whisper in his ear. “I know I didn’t get to say it, but I want you to know that I will always—“_  
__________

He snapped awake and for a moment forgot where he was. It was still dark outside, and the chill settled into his bones. The fire he’d set the previous night was nothing more than cold embers now, and his bed was a thin, dirty mat between him and the ground. The sound of deep breathing across the room and the acrid smell of dust brought back the memories of the past year all at once, and the old hardness crept back over his heart, sealing off the dreams he could only allow himself to have in the deep hours of night when there was nothing but himself and the past to keep him company.

Wrex wasn’t a broken man by any stretch of the imagination, but knowing that Shepard wasn’t out there anymore made the galaxy seem a little darker.

The Urdnot clan seat was his again, finally, after one hell of a knock-down-drag-out with Wreav that left the both of them in bad shape. The finishing blow had come in the form of a wild haymaker that connected in just the right spot in his brother’s jaw and turned his lights out like flipping a switch. Once he was back in power, Wrex had wasted no time implementing his daring new policy of not killing each other anymore and rallying their strength for the coming Reaper war. Convincing his fellow krogan of the threat had been somewhat difficult until he’d shown them the vids of Sovereign attacking the Citadel. One thing he could say about krogan—they were dense, but they weren’t as dense as the Council races tended to be. The salarians, asari, and turians were hoping to avoid a war, but the krogan were looking forward to one. A battle one would be proud to die in. Some things never changed.

Most of his days were spent on diplomacy, securing alliances, and ensuring that the clans already under his banner abided by his rules. Weapons and supplies were being stockpiled, and the Blood Pack had been employed to try and covertly build up a small fleet of ships. Since the krogan had been demilitarized, there were strict sanctions on what types of vehicles they could own, but a freighter or deep-space transport ship could be retrofitted with cannons and shielding that would give them an edge in battle. Krogan strength, however, lay in a ground assault so Wrex had set up training fields complete with maw hammers to keep the troops on their toes. Things were going well, and he felt pretty good about their chances.

He was putting together an army for his people and for Tuchanka, but at least a part of him (and he wasn’t sure how large that part was) knew that he was doing this for her, because it was one of the last things they’d talked about. He replayed that conversation often when he got sick and tired of playing politics. 

_”I told you why I don’t want to go back.”_

_“Yeah, you said that you didn’t want to watch your people tear themselves apart,” she says, folding her arms in that way she has that means she means to be heard, “which they’ll continue to do unless someone tells them otherwise.”_

_“You suggesting we need to be led to be worth a damn?” He’s not sure why he’s so angry at her for being her unflappable self. She’s making sense, as per usual, and that’s needling him today for some reason. That it might be a typical dominance display, like those that happened all the time with krogan couples, has occurred to him already._

_“No, I’m saying that the krogan are like any other species in that you need to have a common goal to be a cohesive unit.”_

_“We have a common goal—curing the genophage.”_

_“An intangible enemy that you can’t shoot. You can’t form an army against a virus, Wrex.” She steps into his space and looks up at him with steel in her gaze. “But you can fight the Reapers. You know they’re coming just as well as I do, and we’re going to need the krogan.”_

_“The Council doesn’t seem to think so.” Even he could hear the stubbornness in his voice and he hates it, hates that she’s right again. Hates that he has to go back home. Again._

_“We’re taking our cues from the Council now? Really?” She puts a hand on his shoulder and makes him look at her, really look. “The Council is throwing us all to the wolves, whether they know it or not. It’s up to us to prepare for this war, and that means getting everyone on board. This is going to be your people’s return to glory, see if it isn’t.” Then she smiles, and he believes her. She has a way of doing that, of making the impossible happen._

He roused himself out of his daydream and scowled. ‘So if she can do the impossible, why is she still dead?’ he wondered, and took a deep breath. Today, he’d be meeting with Gatatog Uvenk to bring their clan into the fold. Gatatog Karthak was a strong battlemaster and leader of a powerful krantt, and brought with him thirteen fertile females. They’d be a valuable asset to the cause. Gearing himself up for another long day, he stepped out into the bitter yellow Tuchankan light.

The day’s work assaulted him the moment he walked out of the shared barracks in which he’d been bunking. The food stores were being pillaged by pyjacks, there was a meeting with the female camps that needed to be arranged (the particulars of which gave Wrex one bitch-kitty of a headache—organizing a dozen different clans was like herding klixen), and the ambassador from clan Nakmor was being his usual high-and-mighty self and generally pissing off everyone in the vicinity. 

Once he was through the gauntlet and finally seated on his ostentatious-yet-symbolically-effective throne, he called for the hearings to begin. First on the list was the disciplinary officer from clan Jurdon, who had joined the alliance in its early stages. There was some dispute over what to do with a younger krogan who had completed his Rite by shooting a member of his krantt and leaving him alive for a pack of rampaging varren to devour. On the one hand, Wrex had implemented a strict policy against killing fellow krogan except in cases of necessity, and on the other hand he had to admit that it was a sound strategy, if an exceptionally devious one. In the end, Wrex and the disciplinary officer decided to allow the youngling to complete the Rite again, this time without a krantt for backup. If he survived, he’d prove himself worthy of his species. If he didn’t . . . well, then the problem will have taken care of itself. 

With that taken care of, Uvenk, the emissary from clan Gatatog, mounted the dais and presented his throat grudgingly. Wrex nodded in acknowledgement and waited for him to speak.

“I have come from the lands of my clan to negotiate an alliance with clan Urdnot.”

“And you’ll be welcome among our ranks.” All this pomp and circumstance and standing on ceremony made the flaps of skin between his eyes itch.

“However, first I need to clarify a few things so I can send word back to my clan leader, Gatatog Karthak.” Uvenk began to pace back and forth and Wrex’s face grew grave. This one was going to drag his heels. What fun. “We have heard that you destroyed the genophage cure that the turian Spectre, Saren, developed.” 

“That’s true.” This was familiar territory; when they’d heard the story, it had taken his people a while to absorb the particulars of the situation. “What you didn’t hear was that it wasn’t really a cure, but a way to breed krogan for his own personal army. I didn’t want to see our people become like the geth at the beck and call of a psychotic turian, so I—that is, myself and the crew I was with—blew it up.”

“The woman, Shepard, made this decision?” There was a gleam in his eye that meant someone had been telling tales out of school, and that stoked the rage that had lain in dormant embers for the past few months. 

“No. I made that call. If I’d disagreed with her, I would have shot her. I assume you heard the fight almost ended in gunfire?”

“That’s not the only thing I’ve heard,” Uvenk said, hinting at his knowledge in a singularly annoying fashion.

Either his relationship with Shepard had been more transparent than he’d thought, or there was someone out there who knew too much. He’d make it his business to find out later. Time to put an end to this, now. “Be that as it may, you have your answer. Do you have any other concerns?”

“You’ve completely abandoned krogan traditions, deep-seated traditions that go back to the great warlords of old.”

“The great warlords of old didn’t have the genophage to contend with, Uvenk.”

“What you say is true, but abandoning the practices that define us as a people isn’t wise, Wrex.” Uvenk pointed a clawed finger at him and frowned. “This alliance of yours will dilute our species, put chinks in our defenses, and leave us open to attack from the Council races.”

“What if I told you that it’s not the Council we have to worry about?”

“Oh, yes, the Reapers.” Uvenk scoffed, and Wrex was reminded of that damnable turian, Sparatus, and his feelings on the ‘Reapers’. “You bring us tales of an invincible enemy, but clan Gatatog believes it’s nothing but wishful thinking.”

“ _Wrex,_ ” said the voice of one of his perimeter guards in his comm. “ _Approaching ship, flying Cerberus colors. They’re requesting permission to send a shuttle_.”  
Cerberus. He remembered them, but he had to admit he was curious as to what the hell they were doing here. “They say what they want?”

“ _They weren’t specific, but I don’t like it. Their pilot was being very evasive, and a smart-ass to boot._ ”

“Your opinion’s been noted.” He sighed and thought about it for a second, glancing at the impatient and aggravating Uvenk. Anything to distract him from this plate-rending boredom would be the best thing to happen to him all day. “Give them permission, but put some guns on them and send them to me.”

“ _Understood._ ”

As they waded through the laundry list of complaints the Gatatog clansmen had with the way Wrex ran things, he listened for the incoming shuttle to land. It took only minutes, and ran more quietly than the ones he had in his small collection. He’d have to remember to get the model number.

“You know what tradition demands,” Uvenk was saying, pacing again like a damned politician making a stump speech . . . which was pretty much what he was, Wrex mused. “Clan Urdnot must respond. Your reforms will not go unopposed; you risk appearing weak at a critical time.”

From the stairs, his guard said, “Halt—you must wait until the clan leader summons you. He is . . . in talks.” Wrex couldn’t see much beyond the towering krogan except a shock of very familiar red hair. The voice of Gatatog Uvenk turned into an unintelligible drone as the woman looked past the guard and Wrex saw her face. He was up and out of his seat before he was even aware of what he was doing. It was like a blow to the gut seeing her again, and he had to tell himself to slow down and make sure she wasn’t an elaborate AI or a clone.

“Shepard?” He went to her, and she smiled at him. Her mouth was thin and drawn and there was a web of scars that glowed with the orange light of high-grade cybernetics, but it was undeniably her—he’d know that smell anywhere. There was a metallic tang to it now, but the underlying scent was all Shepard. He pushed past the guard and started to open his arms, but she glanced to the left and right at her squadmates—a salarian who was looking around distractedly, and a fidgety, fledgling krogan. Wrex gave a tiny nod and changed tack, grabbing her hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “Shepard! My friend.” He could feel the reluctance in her arm when she let him go and he ached to touch her, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Hey, Wrex.” The look in her eyes reminded him of storm clouds, dark and gray. She’d come back, but he sensed that a part of her had been left behind wherever she’d been for the past two years. He would arrange for them to have some time alone later and get the whole story, but for now he was so gobsmacked at seeing her again he was having trouble forming words.

“You look well for dead, Shepard. Should have known the Void couldn’t hold you.” 

“Looks like destroying Saren and his geth has worked out for you. Glad we didn’t have to kill each other back on Virmire.” Here was the old Shepard, that glint of humor diminished but not gone. 

“Indeed. You made the rise of clan Urdnot possible. Virmire was a turning point for the krogan, though not everyone was happy about it.” He turned to Gatatog Uvenk and glared pointedly at him. “Destroying Saren’s genophage cure freed us from his manipulation. I used that to spur the clans to unify under Urdnot.”

Uvenk piped up, “You abandoned many traditions to get your way. Dangerous.” He shook his head disapprovingly. Wrex, thoroughly fed up with his attitude, reared back and headbutted him. He saw a grin spread across Shepard’s face an instant before she raised her hand and wiped it off, not without some effort. It made him feel better to see her smile again, a real one this time. 

“Speak when spoken to, Uvenk. I’ll drag your clan to glory whether it likes it or not.” He went back to his seat and settled in it, raising a browplate at Shepard and waving a hand at the throne. _So, what do you think?_

She remembered what she’d said about the throne and had to admit that it suited him well. Very well. She nodded and tried to hide another smile. 

“Now, Shepard, what brings you here? How’s the Normandy?”

They spent the next few minutes catching up on the past two years, and through it all was an undercurrent of conversation that happened in looks and gestures, unseen by anyone else who didn’t know them as well as they did. Most of that was gauging the other's reaction to this new turn of events, and once that was established, how to proceed from here. Other men might want to talk about it or agonize over the details, but Wrex seemed to just want to be with her again no matter what that meant. The details never mattered much to him--she was alive, she was still interested, so what the hell was the big deal? That kind of attitude was refreshing after the emotional drama she’d had to contend with in past relationships with humans.

Shepard could tell how surprised he was to see her and wished she could have sent word ahead, but she didn’t want Cerberus to be aware of her feelings for Wrex. The Illusive Man was certainly intercepting all her communications to pull her reins a little tighter in lieu of having a control chip implanted in her head. She found herself gravitating closer to him as she spoke, almost unconsciously, and she had to remember to keep her distance. There were eyes everywhere, and the salarian, Mordin, saw entirely too much for his own good. No doubt he was picking up on their connection even now, but hopefully he just thought it was a deep camaraderie rather than what it really was.

And what was it, exactly? Shepard still wasn’t sure. When she’d come back, things had seemed so gray. Life had gone on without her, and all her friends had changed. Liara was the Shadow Broker now, Garrus had turned hard and ruthless, Tali was leading her own teams, and Kaidan was . . . being Kaidan somewhere. Wrex was the only one who’d greeted her with warmth and seemed genuinely happy to see her, who wasn’t asking anything of her but some conversation and her company. He didn’t need her to do any favors, and he didn’t mince words. If he didn’t want her there he’d have said so, but as it was, she could see how much he’d missed her in the set of his jaw and the way he tracked her movements like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. It was like she’d lost a part of herself when she’d died over Alchera, and it had been waiting for her to find it again on Tuchanka. She felt more like herself than she had since she’d woken up on a Cerberus lab table, and she kept smiling like an idiot every time she looked at Wrex up there on his throne and had to admit that he did look pretty hot up there. 

Maybe it wasn’t too late to get that Leia outfit after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The youngling she’d brought, Grunt (and if ever there was a more aptly named krogan, Wrex had yet to meet him), was having a hard time with his emerging blood rage and needed to go through the Rite to balance it out. Gatatog Uvenk was predictably outraged at the idea of allowing a tank-bred to go through the same rite of passage as a true-born krogan, and he stormed off while Wrex was distracted. 

He’d been watching Shepard as she went to see the shaman and, soon enough, Uvenk appeared behind Shepard. He shouted something that Wrex couldn’t quite hear, although he was pretty sure it had something to do with those traditions he was touting a few minutes ago, and Shepard rolled her eyes. When Uvenk turned his attention to her and started getting in her face, her eyebrows pulled down into a furious frown and she slammed her head into his. 

Wrex burst out laughing along with the shaman, and when his scout turned around to see what was happening, Wrex just pointed up to Shepard and said, “Bomb the pyjack.” The scout shook his head and turned back to his guns.

Once the Rite had been arranged and set in motion, Shepard came to bid Wrex farewell for the time being. A tattooed woman in nothing but a pair of low-slung pants and a few straps around her upper half sauntered into the camp, looking around with feigned disinterest. She carried herself with the air of someone who knew she was powerful enough to wipe out everyone in the room, but most of it was swagger that Wrex recognized immediately. It was exactly the way every youngling fresh from the Rite and given his first assignment behaved—like the world was his, and no one was going to tell him otherwise. 

The tattooed woman was drawing a few glances, probably because of her challenging sneer that begged every krogan in the camp to just try and fuck with her. By contrast, Shepard blended into the background (as much as a human could blend in on Tuchanka, that was), but the truth of it was in her eyes. They were as old as Wrex’s, and Shepard had learned the hard way what the woman, Jack, had yet to find out—that those who were truly strong didn’t need to show it. Their actions spoke for themselves, and no amount of bravado and machismo would help when the shit hit the fan. 

The salarian went to wait in the Tomkah while Grunt greeted Jack with a laugh and an enthusiastic slap on the back that caused her to stumble and scowl. Jack fingered the gun holstered at her side, but after a glance around at the heavily armored and armed krogan surrounding her, decided that camp Urdnot wasn’t the best place to start a firefight.

“We’re heading out,” Shepard said, and punched something into her omnitool. His own pinged at him a moment later. “That’s the frequency for our channel, just in case . . . you know . . .”

“Thanks. I’ll call. You know, just in case.” Wrex winked at her and she gave him a sheepish twist of her lips in return. Giving him a little wave, she bounded off to the Tomkah the shaman had commandeered and climbed into the passenger seat. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least she wasn’t driving this time. 

There was a vid screen built into a pedestal near the varren pit, and Wrex fired it up to watch the live feed from the training grounds. It was the closest thing they had to entertainment these days, and soon the screen had attracted a small group of curious onlookers. It was a rare occurrence for a participant to bring along a mixed-species krantt, and this marked the first time a human had been allowed to join in the Rite. Now there were two, and both females to boot. This was bound to get interesting.

They passed the first round with no incident at all, and the two women hung back to let Grunt take the lead. He fought hard and well, and Wrex could see Shepard’s influence all over him. Shepard hopped up on a wall and took pot shots at the incoming fauna of Tuchanka, barely taking the time to aim but hitting her mark every time. Jack threw her biotics haphazardly at anything that came near her with graceful finesse that spoke of years of practice. Shockwaves brutally hammered into the varren and left them in smoldering pieces. It was impressive, to be sure, but Wrex knew she had to be feeling the drain by now, and the third round was yet to come.

One large pack of varren and a herd of klixen later, the maw hammer fell again with a thunderous boom and silence descended on the grounds. Wrex looked around and saw that the vid screen was surrounded by nearly everyone in camp, all of them offering appraisals of the fighters in the coliseum. All of a sudden, the acrid dust churned and rumbled and a wavering blue tentacle scented the air. Jack tossed a blue mass effect field at it, and there was a horrible screeching sound followed by a fully-grown thresher maw that burst out of the ground in a shower of rubble. Jack’s jaw dropped, Grunt roared, and Shepard’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“Oh, Wrex, is it my birthday?” she breathed into the comm.

He chuckled. “Thought you might like this part.”

She gave a loud whoop of excitement and dove for cover under a flying gob of acid that burst in a hissing spray on the ground. The fight was a confusion of bullets and Wrex could tell that Shepard was deliberately missing some easy shots to let Grunt be the star of the show. Three of the pillars that were supposed to provide cover had disintegrated under the maw’s assault and Jack was flagging by the time Shepard brought out a grenade launcher and, shouting all kinds of obscenities, let off a shot directly into the maw’s mouth, blowing off a chunk of corrosive flesh. Grunt rushed forward while it was distracted and gave it both barrels of his modified shotgun, finally bringing the huge monster down with a long, pained scream. 

The assembled krogan stared unbelievingly at the thresher maw’s death throes, some of them casting glances at Wrex. No one had killed a maw in the Rite since he’d run the gauntlet himself centuries ago, and he felt a surge of pride that Shepard had been there to help bring it down. 

A human. _His_ human. May wonders never cease.

Wrex happened to glance back at the screen just as Uvenk and his thugs showed up. Wrex groaned and put his face in his hands—the man was like scale itch, only more irritating. He pinged Shepard and she held up a finger to Uvenk just as he was expounding on the glorious half-life Grunt could expect as a sort-of member of clan Gatatog. 

“Would you get a load of this guy?” He could see her cock her thumb at the assembled krogan before her, and Uvenk frowned at her. Evidently, he was unused to being dismissed, especially by a female. “Want me to kill him?”

“Up to you. On the one hand, he’s been pissing me off all day and he hasn’t joined our camp yet, so he’s not subject to the ‘no killing’ rule. On the other, if you only wound them, we could stitch them back up and absorb their clans. We need the numbers for the Reaper war.”

“You have a good point.” She stared daggers at Uvenk and growled, “I really want to kill this guy.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

“So what do you think?”

Wrex sighed and rubbed his face. “We really could use the muscle, Shepard.”

There was a long pause followed by an exasperated exhale, then Shepard said, “How many hearts do your people have?”

“Two.”

“So I could blow a hole in one and he’d survive?”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Can I still shoot him in the kneecaps?”

“If that’s what makes you happy.”

“Okay, I won’t kill anyone.” She started to shut off the comm, but stopped at the last minute. “What if they’re being really, really annoying?”

“Shepard—“

“Yeah, yeah, no killing people, got it.” She disconnected, then immediately turned around and fired three rapidfire rounds directly into one of the thugs’ feet, turning it into a bloody, pulpy mass. The krogan howled and fell to the ground, and the fight began.

True to her word, she and her squad didn’t kill anyone, but the battle was no less bloody because of it. In fact, the spectators that had stuck around to see Uvenk get what was coming to him—the same ones who had growled in indignation at the emissary’s insult of an invitation—winced in sympathy when Jack pulled a krogan from his feet so hard it nearly yanked his arm off, or when Grunt turned his shotgun around and hammered in his opponent’s face with the butt. When Uvenk was the only one left standing, Shepard leaned out of cover and managed to fire a round right into his thigh. He stumbled, and bellowed when another bullet lodged in his knee. Breaking cover, Shepard walked calmly over to him and aimed the gun at Uvenk’s chest. 

“You’re a disgrace,” she sneered, and pulled the trigger, blowing apart one of his hearts. Uvenk gasped like a fish then fell still, unconscious. Wrex ordered a team out to collect the wounded, and another to take over the much-diminished Gatatog encampment.

When they arrived back at the camp, Shepard released Grunt so he could bask in the adulation of his new clan mates, and she sent Jack back to the shuttle so she could rest and reenergize. After making a call to the Normandy, the shuttle left and then came back bearing a scarred merc with mismatched eyes. He took one appraising look around, then his gaze lit on Wrex and he started toward him.

“Zaeed?” Wrex asked. “That you?”

“Course it is, you ancient bugger. Your eyesight going? Not uncommon for a man of your age.”

Wrex shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re one to talk about losing eyesight. Been a long time.”

“Yeah . . . Omega, wasn’t it? Running out a bunch of slavers for Aria?”

“Wait a minute,” Shepard said, trotting over. “You two know each other?”

“Oh yeah, me and the big guy here go way back,” Zaeed answered. “Been on a few jobs together. Strong, silent type if you’re into that sort of thing.” He winked at her and she had to look away before her cheeks gave her away.

“How’s Jessie?” Wrex asked, and knew the answer when Zaeed’s face fell. “Damn. Sorry. I know you liked that rifle.”

“Yeah, well this one here is still thirsty for blood.” He hoisted his new Lancer and kissed the barrel. “Haven’t thought of a name for her yet. Helluva girl, though. Kicks like a proper bitch. I should get going, Wrex. Meet you at the tank, Shepard.” 

After he left, Wrex turned back to Shepard and what he saw surprised him. It hadn’t been so evident before, but in the lowering light and growing shadows her eyes looked sunken, her cheeks gaunt, and the tendons of her neck were more prominent. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked like the homeless waifs that lived on the Citadel. 

“What have you been eating?” he asked.

“Ration bars, mostly. I don’t really have a lot of time for sit-down meals these days.”

“Those things are meant to be eaten until you can find real food, Shepard. You’re too skinny.”

“Human women don’t usually like it when you comment on their weight.” She was trying to joke, but it came out awkward and uncomfortable.

“I’m serious. You need to eat something more substantial than ration bars. I’ll see what I can scrounge up—we must have something here that your species can digest.”

“Wrex, I’m fine. Really.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him with something that wanted to be defiance but didn’t quite get there because she knew he was right. “For me?” She paused for a few beats, then nodded. “You’re rotating your team, but if you need to take a break—“

“I’m fine.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled reassuringly. “Really, I am. These new implants Cerberus gave me kick ass. I’ve got enough energy for this mission, and after that I promise I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, okay?”

“All right,” he allowed.

“What’s with you? You were never this concerned about my health before.”

“You were never dead for two years before.” That was too close to a confession, and he couldn’t have that right now, in front of all these people. “We’ll talk later. I’ll figure something out.”

“Looking forward to it.” She trotted off to the Tomkah and left with a plume of dust kicking up from the back. 

He sat back down in his throne with a _flumph_ and resumed hearing the cases that had been brought before him. As it happened, there was only one left—a whole slew of new breeding requests that had been filed for Grunt, the newest member of the Urdnot clan. The ambassador to the female camp waited for him to give the okay, and it gave him an idea. He keyed something in to the datapad she’d handed him and gave it back. It had been a long time since he’d filed one himself, but he remembered the total discretion with which the females handled breeding requests. The envoy looked at his entry, then glanced up at him and nodded. His secret was safe with her.

Once the envoy had gone, he leaned back and closed his eyes. This had definitely turned out to be a mind-blowing day. Tonight, though . . . tonight would be for catching up. He thought he’d be able to convince her to dock the Normandy and stay for a while. Just thinking about it made his scales tingle and he had to shimmy around a bit to find a comfortable position due to the tightening that was going on behind his codpiece. He looked at his omnitool for a moment, then switched on the comm to hear her voice again. Hopefully she was in the middle of a fierce battle—she always made the sexiest noises when she was fighting.

He really wished he had left the comm off.

Because she was not fighting. She was talking to the salarian about why they were there—Maelon’s research, the genophage modification project, the females who had sacrificed themselves for the children that others after them would bear. 

And he heard it. He heard it all.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as she, Zaeed, and Mordin stepped out of the Tomkah, Shepard knew something was wrong. huge chunk of rock went flying past them, not intended to hurt but to get their attention. Wrex roared, a sound of unbridled fury—and something else she couldn’t place that flooded her bloodstream with adrenaline. 

He stomped over to them and stopped a few yards away, then pointed at Mordin and growled, “I want the frog off my planet. _Now._ ” He motioned to the scout at his post nearby, who grabbed his gun and approached them with a sadistic grin. “Escort him back to the shuttle.”

“Wrex—“ she started, but he held up a hand and made a snuffling sound like a rhino about to charge. He might as well have been breathing fire, he was so angry.

“I will—“ _deal with you_ “—talk to you in a minute. Zaeed, go with them.” The merc in question looked to Shepard first and Wrex growled. “What, do I have to pay you first? Go.”

“Go ahead,” Shepard said, not taking her eyes off Wrex as if that could keep him from flying into a rage. “Get back to the shuttle and tell the pilot to bring the two of you to the ship and standby. I’ll send word when I’m ready for pickup.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, cocking his thumb at Wrex.

“He’d never hurt me.” He looked up at her and for a moment, she wasn’t too sure about that sentiment. “Right, Wrex?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, but he finally manage to rumble between gritted teeth, “No, I won’t hurt her.” Zaeed appraised him for a beat, then he and Mordin headed to the shuttle accompanied by the scout.

She stepped slowly down to his level and started to ask, “Okay, what the he—“

“Not here. With me, now.” He stormed off and didn’t even look back to see if she was following. They trudged across the Urdnot camp to the outbuildings that lay just outside the ring of torch light, separated by a treacherous stretch of shadowed rocks. The whole way, they said nothing to each other, although he could feel her apprehension like a palpable aura behind him. He knew he should reassure her, but he couldn’t just now; his head was a red haze of anger at the conversations he’d heard. Fragments of phrases flitted in and out of his head, making it hard to concentrate. 

( _never killed with medicine_ )

( _piles of dead children that never lived_ )

They stumbled across the jagged landscape, and Wrex took up a torch at the perimeter of the low building that was reserved for visiting females. Wrex walked on numb legs as he entered; it contained a double row of private rooms with beds, bathing troughs, and not much else. One of those rooms had been set aside for Shepard and himself, but he wasn’t sure what they’d be doing anymore. Talking? Fighting? He certainly wasn’t in the mood for what he’d gotten the room for in the first place.

( _rest, young mother_ )

( _optimal growth . . . like gardening_ )

Shepard went into the room first, and he slammed the door behind him harder than necessary, then punched it for good measure. Impotent rage was the worst kind; he was pissed off and heartsick, but there was no one to kill for it. No, this was much like the genophage itself—an invisible foe that had to be fought in one’s head, not with one’s fists. 

( _could have cured the krogan—they’d have rejoiced_ )

( _krogan were adapting to genophage_ )

Wrex growled and stalked back and forth across the floor, but had to stop before he drove himself crazy. He was acutely aware of Shepard standing against the wall, very still and anxious. 

( _adapting to the genophage_ )

He sat down (except what he did was closer to positioning himself beside the bed and letting his knees unhinge) and turned on his omnitool to play the recording of her conversation with the salarian again, in case there was some detail he’d missed that would clear up the whole thing. Shepard watched with dawning understanding on her face and she closed her eyes against the sinking feeling in her chest that told her just how badly fucked this situation was.

There was a tiny click, then her voice sounded in the closed space.

“ _\--n’t expect you to be this disturbed over a dead krogan, Mordin.”_

_“Why, because of genophage work? Irrelevant. No—causative! Never experimented on live krogan, never killed with medicine. Her death not my work, only reaction to—“_

_“Whoa, whoa, back the thought-train up a bit.”_ She started to sound angry there, and Wrex knew that this was where she started to take it personally. Maybe she was more like a krogan than he’d originally thought. “ _You really believe you never killed anyone? That’s really what you think?”_

_“Of course. Genophage merely slows birth rate, one in one thousand. Optimal growth without risk of overpopulation.”_

_“You heard what that guy from clan Weyrloc said. ‘Piles of dead children.’ I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a metaphor. The genophage doesn’t just stop fertilization--sometimes it triggers spontaneous abortions, or results in stillbirths. There’s enough left to bury, Mordin.”_

_“Familiar with genophage? Not many aware of mechanism, fewer still of the krogan adaptation to it.”_ He didn’t even try to deny what she’d said. There was a short pause and a sharp intake of breath, then, _”Familiar with krogan, clear from the beginning. With one in particular? Ahh, I see. Clan leader, Urdnot Wrex. But, more than simple friendship—krogan don’t discuss genophage with just anyone. Romantically involved, then?”_

_“I’d be very careful who you told that to,”_ she growled. Shepard sighed from across the room. She’d always hated having to keep their relationship a secret.

_”Of course. Political suicide to be seen as biased toward krogan. But perhaps, another reason for rejecting genophage?”_

_“That’s not really the point. You’re saying that you never killed anyone, and I’m telling you that you’re fucking blind if that’s what you think. Females go wandering off into the wastes because they can’t stand the idea of being less than useless if they’re infertile. They hope to be eaten by thresher maws because they’ll never know what it means to have children of their own. The males have been killing each other over miniscule tracts of land and the rights to the females for more than a thousand years. Miscarried babies are put in mass graves and mourned by their would-be mothers. And as if that wasn’t enough, you killed their future. You murdered their hope, and that’s so, so much worse.”_

Hearing it like this, the stark details of the genophage laid out like this, closed a vice around his heart and wrung the sorrow out in harsh, bitter drops that burned where they fell. When he looked up at her, she met his gaze with an answering sadness and that chased away some of the anger that gripped him.

_“If you insist on comparing the systematic genocide of an entire species to fucking_ gardening _, I will rip your spleen out through your nostrils, do you understand me?”_

_“Not—maneuver not medically possible—“_ He was stuttering in his surprise, and Wrex was viciously glad to hear it.

_“And you may have noticed that I am very determined when I put my mind to something.”_ She sighed, and Wrex could almost see her raking her fingers through her hair. 

_“Let’s just finish this and get the hell out of here.”_

“So,” came her voice, small and so unsure that it hardly sounded like her at all, “you heard.”

“I did. There’s one part that sticks out to me, though,“ he said, “when he says something about ‘krogan adaptation’. Does that mean what I think it means, Shepard?”

“Yes.” She started to go to him, then decided against it and leaned against the wall again. “The salarians found that your people were starting to adapt to the genophage, and that the birth rate was picking up again. Mordin and his team were assigned to modify it and bring it back to ‘optimal range’ again.” She looked almost as outraged as he was about it.

“How long did you know?” That was the one question he really needed an answer to. “Was it before you came here, or after?”

“. . . Before.” He frowned, and she rushed to explain. “But I was going to tell you as soon as we could meet alone. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others.”

“Probably wise,” he admitted. They were silent for a long time and the rage ebbed away, leaving his muscles twitching and his blood cool and stale. He needed to work out the residual tension before too long, or he’d never get to sleep. “The intangible enemy, the one we fought for so long . . . and we were _winning_.” He hung his head, and a moment later her hand was on his head, stroking, soothing. “Then those damnable amphibians came and pounded us back into the dirt again. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

“I’m so sorry, Wrex.” She knelt down in front of him and cupped his face in her small hands, obviously relieved that he wasn't angry at her. “I’ll figure out a way to fix this, I promise.”

“And just how are you planning to do that? Strap him up and torture him until he does what you want? Because I’m fine with that idea.”

She gave him a wry twist of her lips and shook her head. “No. You didn’t see his face when he found out that Maelon was working for Clan Weyrloc voluntarily. Give him some time, and he’ll come around. Somewhere, deep down, he feels guilty as hell for what he did.”

“That’s your plan? Give him time? Meanwhile, my people are dying, Shepard, and when the Reapers come, we won’t be able to replenish our numbers fast enough to make up for the losses. The krogan will go extinct while we wait for that bastard to come around.”

“I can’t make him do it, Wrex.”

“ _I_ could.” But he already knew what was wrong with that idea before she started to speak.

“He could just as easily sabotage it, and no one would know the difference until you realized no new krogan were being born at all. No, he has to decide on his own that it’s the right thing to do. It won’t take him long—salarians are notoriously quick thinkers, after all. I’m betting that he’ll figure it out right after we hit the Collectors.” _Assuming he survives_ , she thought, but didn't say.

He let out a long breath and let his head fall against hers. “How the hell do you stay so calm all the time?”

She laughed softly and nuzzled his cheek in that way she did that reminded him why he tended to call humans ‘pyjacks’. Not that it was unwelcome—far from it, actually. “I don’t. You heard me tell Mordin I’d rip out his lungs through his nose, right?”

“I think it was his spleen. And I’d pay good money to see that.” He brought his hands up to her shoulders and dragged them down her arms. It had been two years since he’d touched her, and he could feel the anger from before begin to turn into something else. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I missed you.” She rose up onto her feet and he pressed his face against her stomach, wrapping his arms around her thighs. Her fingers traced the deep gashes in his crest, then grabbed the top edge and pulled him closer. “Wrex, can we not fight anymore?”

“We were fighting?” he asked, and the words were muffled by her armor. He started to pull it off to expose her skin and the sigh that earned him turned his blood to fire. “Usually, when krogan fight, someone ends up bleeding or dead.”

“We could call it a fight, just so we can have make-up sex.” She shoved him back on the bed and crawled over him, straddling his hips and rising up over him. Her green eyes gleamed in the torch light as she looked down at him with a mix of lust and amusement.

“That sounds like a plan.”

“I thought so, too.”


End file.
